


Your No-Good, Dirty-Rotten, Gem-Shattering, Rebellion-Leading Mother

by citrusella



Category: Holes (2003), Holes - Louis Sachar, Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: (basically it starts intra-timeskip), Alternate Universe, Assault, Gen, Mutism, Original Character Death(s), Post-Episode s05e29-32 Change Your Mind, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Steven Universe: the Movie, SU and Holes share the same universe, so i'll put it here later, there are words to describe the type of writing/tone here but i'm coming up short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22155139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusella/pseuds/citrusella
Summary: What if Steven had gone to Camp Green Lake instead of Stanley?Or: If Steven Universe And Holes Were The Same Universe: A Fanfiction (thanksCaptainJZH)Or, as the top of my Google Doc I started back exactly a year ago says: SU x Holes: Because the fact that Steven Universe and Stanley Yelnats are both 14 is messing with me(title might change; I've just not been in the title zone today)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 34
Collections: "Finish Your WIPs or Be Forced to Post Them Unfinished" Month: A NaNoWriMo Alternative





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was eyeing this to put in my [failure collection fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22150771/chapters/52875859) for WIP Finish or Post Month last November, but seeing as the two chapters I had written were essentially finished, I figured why have that middleman, right? (It's put in the collection, though; since even though I didn't write it during November or work on it then, I intended to, and that's what matters. It's just not in the fic intended for the unfinished drafts)

"It was all because of your no-good, dirty-rotten, gem-shattering, rebellion-leading mother."

Now, let's make this clear from the start. Steven didn't believe his mother's past doings put him under some sort of curse—well, _not anymore_ , he didn't—but sometimes when things went wrong, it felt nice to have someone to blame. Other than himself, that was. Even if blaming Rose was Steven-blaming adjacent.

Things seemed to have been going wrong for him an awful lot lately.

Even past the whole thing with his mom and Aquamarine and the trips to Homeworld and… and…

Lars.

It didn't matter how many people said he was innocent. Didn't matter how many character witnesses there were for him in town. Didn't matter that the local police hadn't considered it at all his fault. Didn't matter that the person they said he'd "killed" was still alive and on his way back home.

Something had fallen into his bag from the displays next to the counter when he left the store the next town over, and it had triggered the alarm. The police had bought it when he explained he hadn't put it in there, but the manager, Mrs. Hansen, hadn't, and at Mrs. Hansen's behest, they had run a background check on Steven. Of course he didn't have a record of any sort—they had trouble finding even his basic information in the computers—but some police interviews and news coverage had come back in relation to Lars, and apparently the police the next town over weren't quite so understanding as Beach City's officers.

He might have just considered it an unpredictable consequence of someone doing their due diligence, officers from a different precinct taking a second look at something that seemed suspect.

Or at least he might have thought such a thing if the store manager had been anyone but Kevin's mom.

* * *

Court wasn't so bad. People had told him he was lucky he wasn't being tried as an adult. Dad and the lawyer they'd hired had called it a kangaroo court, said it'd never hold up to scrutiny. Steven was just glad he wasn't being tried as a multi-millenia-old war criminal on Homeworld.

Of course, ironically, _this_ was the trial he wouldn't be going home from. Not really.

"I could send you to jail right now. Wouldn't lose a lick of sleep over it. But I don't know what good that would do," the judge had said. "There's currently an opening at Camp Green Lake in Lone Star. They help troubled youth build character. I'll let the choice be yours."

Steven was silent for a long spell. Both were bad choices when the real answer was that he just didn't do it. But camp sounded like fun. But like jail, he supposed he probably wouldn't be allowed to leave, even for a gem emergency—

"Choose or I'll have to choose for you," the judge spoke up with a sigh. Steven grimaced and cleared his throat, leaning toward the microphone at the stand.

"Well… I've never been to camp."

* * *

Steven had been riding through the desert for at least a few hours.

"I've never been on a school bus," he had said brightly when he first boarded the vehicle.

No one responded.

Steven learned not to respond, too.

A quiet, polite "thank you" as he departed the bus was his next full sentence.

He glanced around as the guard led him to a building; he'd certainly never met any kids his age who acted like these—he heard shouts of "fresh meat", "that kid'll get stuck the first day he digs", and some words he would rather not repeat—but overall, it wasn't bad.

Once inside, the guard unshackled his hands and shoved him down into a chair before a desk. The person on the other side swiveled around and lifted his file, opening it to read, though not before taking a skeptical look at the small boy before him.

"Steven… Universe?"

"U-uh… yeah… my dad had it legally changed… you can call me DeMayo… if you think the other's too… too… weird." He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly.

"And you're _14?_ " If a voice could squint, that's what the one of the man in front of him would have been doing as he uttered Steven's age.

"Yeah, I'm kinda small for my age… it's a long story," the boy replied sheepishly.

An awkward silence befell the room, the older man looking with an eyebrow cocked at the younger boy for several moments, as if he was sure the age was a lie. Or else he had some weird growth hormone problem, but that would have been on his chart. And he wouldn't have been sent here.

"…Hm. Well, Mr. Universe," Steven's lips pursed as the man used his name as written, "my name is Mr. Sir. Whenever you speak to me, you will refer to me by my name. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"What was that?"

"Yes… _Mr._ Sir?

"That's what I thought." Mr. Sir turned to a refrigerator and opened it, pulling out two Sugar Shock Shutdowns, one for him and one probably for the guard behind Steven. Steven wasn't a huge fan of the drink, but he hoped perhaps Mr. Sir would pull out a third one anyway; his mouth was just dry enough after the long ride through the desert that he wasn't going to be picky.

Mr. Sir stopped at two.

"You thirsty, Steven?"

"Yes, Mr. Sir."

"Well, you better get used to it, because you're gonna be thirsty for the next three and a half years."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The order of events in this chapter was a little jumbled so I hope the timeline is understandable.

It had been a year and a half. Steven was 16.

His birthday had come and gone, because people didn't care about birthdays here.

To be perfectly honest, he himself had almost forgotten, days melting together like the campers in the hot Lone Star sun, but Pendanski—everyone called him "Mom" but he didn't feel like one to Steven—had _just so happened_ on that day a month or two ago to wake up the boys with a joyous "it's a fine August 15th to wake up bright and early and dig holes!"

Apparently, as if it was some sort of extra punishment meant to reorient everyone to just how long they'd been there, he only did that on someone's birthday, which meant everyone knew it was Steven's birthday, since Pendanski had never called out August 15 before Steven got there just before his birthday _last_ year. But no one celebrated, because you didn't celebrate birthdays here—not even your friends' or your own. You celebrated the day of your release… if you made it that far. Most you got on your birthday was five extra minutes of sleep and a second juice box at breakfast.

Knowing about your birthday and knowing no one cared seemed worse than forgetting about it. Even the gems hadn't written this time. He hadn't gotten mail from the gems in close to a year. Squid, the guy who used the cot next to his, was firm in his insistence that it must be because his family didn't care, but Steven tried to catch himself when he found his train of thought falling into that rut. They had to care, didn't they? They'd known what had actually happened!

…But then… wouldn't they still be sending him mail?

Maybe it was for the best. He didn't even know what he would send back to them nowadays that wasn't something he already said or else an outright lie. It wasn't like camp was _great_ by any definition of the word. It wasn't exactly the worst: his resilient half-gem physiology meant he dug fast and firm and didn't blister or sunburn nearly as badly as his soft, fairly pale skin would seem to suggest, though he'd learned to downplay that all early on—finishing quick and not being wiped out at the end of the day was a novelty to the other campers at first, but when it was a regular occurrence it didn't exactly make you popular around here. He did his best to dig slower and look more tired and try not to float out of his hole after he'd finished—easier said than done back when he'd been the size of an eight year old.

He'd sprouted up quite a bit out of the blue about six months ago, and the rest of D Tent had never let him forget it. It had even become part of their spiel whenever the tent found itself with a new camper.

"That's Squeak. Used to be Pipsqueak but we had to drop the 'pip' when he stopped lookin' like my kid brother," Magnet would say. "Maybe you think we still call 'im Squeak 'cause he's quiet like a mouse, but it's really because if you mess with 'im, a squeak's the last sound you'll make."

More needlessly violent than Steven would almost ever think of being, but it got newer campers to keep their distance and for that he was grateful. It almost felt like a gift from the other D Tent boys—he knew most of them cared about him in their own way, even if they would never admit or show it.

About once a week, X-Ray would lean forward in his cot before getting up in the morning and ask Steven if today would be the day he talked again. It was out of curiosity more than anything; it had been so long that they didn't know anymore—especially with the growth spurt—exactly what Steven sounded like. Even Steven himself wasn't sure what he sounded like now.

X-Ray was one of few campers who knew why Steven was at Camp Green Lake, although, like most of the rest of those who knew, he didn't exactly believe it.

He seemed to know a lot of things about everyone and everything, as if he was trying to justify his nickname, which was really just Pig Latin for his real name, Rex.

X-Ray knew why Steven didn't talk anymore.

But everybody who had been his tentmate for more than nine months knew that.

* * *

It hadn't taken long after his arrival for the other campers in D Tent to take notice of his gem and ask him, incessantly, why he was allowed to have it.

It seemed too complicated to explain, so he didn't. So the boys asked Pendanski, and they asked Mr. Sir. Neither seemed to acknowledge that Steven even had a gem at all.

The tent speculated that even the Warden would deny its existence, were they to get the chance to ask her.

They still goaded him about it, the denials from the counselors feeding their curiosity, but Zigzag, X-Ray, Armpit, Magnet, and Squid never pushed him too hard for info.

The camper who arrived about nine-and-a-half months ago was another story.

Busted for holding up a jewelry store, he scarcely tried to hide his fascination with Steven's gem, eyes glittering whenever he asked about it. He'd been unfazed by the radio silence from Mr. Sir and Pendanski, and he wouldn't stop hounding Steven about it, even though there was no way he was getting the explanation he seemed to so desperately want. The whole thing had made the then-smallest boy immensely uncomfortable.

In hindsight, "uncomfortable" was an understatement.

One night, when everyone was almost asleep, the boy snuck out of his cot, slinked toward Steven's cot, grasped the gem, and pulled. Hard.

Jolted out of his near-slumber, he found himself screaming bloody murder and fighting to keep from reflexively summoning his shield or bubble—not that he needed them, the surprise of the scream itself enough to knock the new kid to the ground. His gem was still firmly embedded in his belly, but that did nothing to stop the panic flooding into him or the scream escaping from his mouth. It was the last sound anybody heard from him.

Lights flipped on. Pendanski was called. Explanations were given. Pendanski considered calling the Warden but decided against it. Steven wasn't sure if it would have made the situation better or worse.

Eventually, after a verbal warning to the other guy as well as Steven (even though he'd been the victim here), everyone else got back to bed, but Steven was wide awake.

What if his gem had managed to come out? What if he'd gotten in trouble for it? What if that guy had taken his gem and put it away where it couldn't reform? What if his two halves didn't get the chance to fuse back into one person? What if the counselors didn't _let_ them fuse back into one person? What would happen to him? Maybe they'd let his human half die and keep his gem half around to keep digging holes—maybe it'd have to dig two a day because it could probably dig twice as many as he could already on his own. What would his family think of that? (Sure, it had been at least a month since their last letters, but they were probably just too busy to write. Right?) They'd surely care—Steven imagined (worried? _hoped?_ ) they'd destroy the camp if anything like that ever happened. Maybe even if it didn't.

Steven hadn't realized he hadn't slept at all until Pendanski flipped on the light and roused everyone for the new day. Everyone looked at him with some kind of look—pity? compassion? worry? he wasn't sure—as they all dressed and headed to Mess Hall for breakfast.

Everyone, that was, except the new kid, who didn't dare look his way. The other guys made small talk amongst themselves and Steven—not that he was up for answering—about what'd be served for lunch (probably something unrecognizable on a sandwich, with a cookie and a fruit cup), or whether it would rain (it wouldn't), or what Zigzag would be watching on TV in the Wreck Room later that day (there seemed to be consensus for _Sabrina, the Teenage Witch_ , but Armpit was certain it'd be _Boy Meets World_ ). But the kid at the end of the table ate his bread and oatmeal in silence, a look somewhere between an angry scowl and an embarrassed grimace on his face, avoiding talking to or looking at anyone, especially the boy he'd taken so off-guard the night before.

Honestly, that was perfectly fine with Steven. In lesser circumstances, he might have wanted to forgive the guy, but even trying to process what had happened last night just got him a bright mental image of White towering over him, the sharp nails of her thumb and index finger digging into his torso as she grabbed half of him and pulled it out like it was nothing.

This guy was not White Diamond, but his brain simply wouldn't shake the connection.

Maybe he should have tried harder to shake it, tried harder to forgive him, though, for Steven wanted to blame himself for what happened next: just before the first canteen fill of the day, the kid got bit by a yellow-spotted lizard while taking a bathroom break at a nearby hole. Everyone knew that was the last they'd see of him—if you get bit by a rattlesnake or scorpion, you don't die, usually, but if you get bit by a yellow-spotted lizard, you _will_ die a slow and painful death. Always.

It is the worst thing that can happen to you.

He didn't deserve it. He hadn't even been around long enough to get a nickname.

Maybe it was divine retribution, maybe it was intentional, or maybe it was just a naive new camper not looking where he did his business.

But whatever the cause, Steven's tentmates took note of the timing and never said anything about his gem ever again.

Maybe he thought it'd make him fade into the background, or get them to shut up, or at least make people think he should be feared so they wouldn't go for his gem again.

But whether any of those possibilities were true or not, Steven never said anything about anything ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys thought there would be hijinks and fun and I'm sorry to say that there aren't. Not yet.


End file.
